


Malfunction

by tiamatv



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fluff and Smut, Laughter During Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:22:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25077550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiamatv/pseuds/tiamatv
Summary: “I—I think, Dean, perhaps—” and Cas trailed off into a high little stifled giggle that was probably the most unangelic noise that Dean had ever heard him make. “Perhaps next time I should undress you?”
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 31
Kudos: 154





	Malfunction

**Author's Note:**

> So we were conversing today on Discord about how laughter during sex is the best thing imaginable. And I realized that I haven't really written much of that. Oops. So have a bit of ridiculousness? Unbetaed, all errors are my own doing!
> 
> (endlessnepenthe, this is for you.)

“Dean… what are you _doing?_ ” Cas asked.

Dean could have told anyone what the look on Cas’s face was, just from the tone of that voice. He knew that Cas’s head was tipped to the side, his chin a little raised, and his full, pink lips were a little parted. He could hear that very faint upward slant to Cas’s deep, dark, thunderstorm voice, the one that made a flat, incredulous statement of fact into a question that other people wouldn’t be even able to hear. Cas’s blue eyes might be a little narrowed, because he still squinted even though he could count the number of hairs on Dean’s head with a blink. (128,392, the last time Dean had been stupid enough to actually ask.)

With his chin and his face stuck inside the neck of his green button-down and the plain white t-shirt rumpled underneath it, though, Dean couldn’t _see_ any of it. Shit. His left arm was free, but he wrestled his right wrist out and pawed the mess of cloth away from his face, huffing as he could breathe again without doing it through flannel and cotton.

Cas was sitting up against his headboard, though, completely straight-faced, with his hands folded neatly together on his fucking _juicy_ thighs. “Do you need help?” he asked, very politely.

If Dean hadn’t been able to see the little creases at the corners of Cas’s eyes deepening as even his goddamned _angelic grace_ couldn’t suppress his smile, he’d have thought the cocky bastard was completely serious.

Well, and there was also the fact that _Cas_ hadn’t had any problems with his clothes. Insult to freakin’ injury, he hadn’t even _graced_ them off—they were lying in a crumpled pile on the right side of the bed.

(At least he hadn’t tried to fold them. This time.)

Dean paused to admire the blessing that was his very own angel stark naked on Dean’s memory foam mattress, with a smile dancing around his normally serious expression and his hard-on resting thick against his abs. Holy fucking Jesus in a tiny canoe, he was so pretty—chin up and eyes sly, hair that Dean had already had his hands in looking even more fucked-up than usual, and lips parted like he was still looking for a kiss.

So maybe Dean’s, “Fuck you,” didn’t come out with as much force as he’d meant it to.

Cas’s lips twitched at the corners, but he raised just one eyebrow and flicked his gaze up and down Dean’s body. “Well, if you don’t get undressed, I don’t think you will.” He leaned his shoulders back against the headboard with a small, exaggerated huff and brought his fingers to his lips.

He didn’t close his mouth as he moistened them. His tongue drew a slow wet circle around and between his pointer and ring finger.

Dean watched, helpless, as Cas drew his hand down to the line of his body; his thumb came to rest on the base of his cock, hard enough now that the darker head of him was peeking out from the soft sheath of his foreskin, and he gave his balls a careful pet with the run of his knuckles. Dean’s breath caught as Cas lazily ran his fingers up and down the underside of his cock, the spit on his finger pads leaving a gleaming trail on his skin. He sighed, contentedly, and closed his eyes.

Oh, Cas thought he was so _funny_ sometimes. Goddammit. Yeah, Dean liked this flannel, but _enough_. Dean growled, fisted one hand on each side of the button band crumpled around his neck, and _yanked._

A thread popped, and with a sharp _tick!_ a white plastic button flew off and pinged against the bureau.

Just one.

The rest of the buttons held.

What the—“ _Sonofabitch!”_ Dean exclaimed. He pulled the cloth away from his face and looked, bewildered, down at where he couldn’t even _see_ where the button had come off from, because all the rest of the goddamned things were still holding on together and it was all still a bunched-up mess of plaid around his neck.

The burst of sound from his bed made him look back up.

Cas didn’t laugh often. Hell, he didn’t _smile_ often. But he was sure as Hell laughing now—low and vibrant like the sound of the Impala revving down Highway 89 with no speed limit markers in sight. He’d let go of his cock and slumped just a little bit down on the bed, curled into himself with one hand pressed over his face and his shoulders shaking. He lowered his fingers and peeked through them at Dean, the tiniest burst of blue.

“I—I think, Dean, perhaps—” and then Cas trailed off into a high little stifled giggle that was probably the most unangelic noise that Dean had _ever_ heard him make. “Perhaps next time I should undress you?”

Cas naked and hard was a blessing. Cas laughing like this was a goddamned angelic _miracle,_ and how much Dean loved the guy made him fucking _dizzy_ sometimes.

Seriously, though, what the fuck, it wasn’t _that_ funny—

Dean looked down at himself. He had his boots off—he’d almost ripped the laces in the effort to get them undone—but his socks still on. His boxers were on the floor, and his hard-on was pointing red and wet towards the bed like a goddamned sign post. He had both of his shirts tucked up in folds around his neck like a fucking _cravat_.

Shit. It really _was_ that funny.

Dean wasn’t sure if he was grumbling or laughing or _both_ when he undid the first three buttons of his button-down, hurriedly, and yanked himself the rest of the way out of his t-shirt and flannel. And yes, he _did_ take off his fucking socks before crawling onto the bed and the rest of the way onto his angel, pinning him down with his own weight.

Cas let him, flopped the rest of the way onto the mattress, now, his eyes still nearly closed with how every so often he’d still trail off into a giggle every few seconds. His face was pink. He hadn’t lost the hard-on, though, and Dean’s mouth watered—which was a weird feeling when he was grinning this hard.

Dean finally took Cas’s hand away from his face and pressed a kiss to his palm. And maybe a nip to the soft flesh at the base of Cas’s thumb just ‘cause they both liked a little bit of teeth now and again.

“You’re an asshole. This is all _your_ fault, you know that, right?” he chuckled, and pushed upwards to lever the hand he was holding until it was pressed to the bed over Cas’s head.

It was true, too. If Cas hadn’t been so goddamned fucking sexy, grabbing Dean to him and slamming their lips together the moment he’d walked through the bunker door, Dean was _sure_ he’d have been more smooth about all this.

Yeah. Sure. He believed that. Uh-huh.

Nothing to do with Cas being gone for a damned month on angelic bureaucratic bullshit, so long that any marks he or Dean had left on each other had long since faded. _Probably_ nothing to do with the fact that before he’d left, Cas had given him a slow eternity of a blowjob that’d made Dean’s head spin, and not even let Dean fucking _return the favor_ before he left.

Probably.

(Yeah, not even Dean believed that one.)

Cas smiled, the slightest hint of tightening just at the corners of his lips.

The next thing Dean knew, _he_ was lying on his back. Cas was kneeling between his legs.

Dean had no idea how he’d ended up in this position. It was like riding a freakin’ tornado, and from the drip of precome that had just hit his belly, Dean was pretty sure he was all for it.

“Yes,” Cas told him, and the expression on his face would have been pure innocence if he hadn’t already had one big, callused hand wrapped greedy and wet around both their cocks. “And I intend to take all the blame.”

~fin~

July 4, 2020

**Author's Note:**

> Proof, once again, that the [Profound Bond server](https://discord.gg/profoundbond) is the sole reason that I have been so 'fic-productive lately. (The rest of my life, well, that's another story.) 
> 
> Come join us, it is a lovely place!


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